


i don't know how

by junesangie



Series: too afraid to fall asleep [1]
Category: NCT (Band), SuperM
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Emotions, Established Relationship, Hurt No Comfort, Insecure Lee Taeyong, Lee Taeyong Needs a Hug, Lee Taeyong is Bad at Feelings, Lee Taeyong-centric, M/M, Misunderstandings, Relationship Issues, Relationship Problems, Taemin is a good friend, breakup feels, feelings are complicated, how is shinee maknae bb so good at this?? idk, taemin is also everyone's dad, taeten - Freeform, taeyong doesn't know how to cope, ten is oblivious, they don't actually break up but it's close
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24835897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junesangie/pseuds/junesangie
Summary: ten is light. he is beauty, and movement, and sunlight streaming through the windows on a breezy summer day. he is carefree, and he cherishes every second of the life he has.taeyong is a stranger in his own skin. it feels like drowning and starving and bleeding out on concrete with not a soul to hear.he knows that ten deserves better. but he just can't seem to let it go.
Relationships: Lee Taeyong/Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten
Series: too afraid to fall asleep [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1796509
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	i don't know how

**Author's Note:**

> it's me, mars. again. this is the first time i've ever written something like this and actually ended on a sad note.
> 
> p.s. this will be part of a limited series of taeten works i'm going to be writing! the title is taken from a lyric in the english translation of jonghyun's (rest in peace, love) song, 'blinking game'. the series likely won't have too many works, but they will all be connected to this storyline.

Ten is light. He is the summer sun, beating down on your neck as sand fills the gaps between your toes. He is glowing bulbs hanging from your balcony, visible from every window in the neighborhood. He is color that shifts and swirls, spreading like paint across concrete—everything he touches comes away just as beautiful as himself. Ten is unattainable, and flawless, and pure; he’s a promise that everyone makes, but none can keep. 

Taeyong doesn’t know what to do with himself when he looks at him. 

He doesn’t know what to feel, either.

The way he moves is fluid—graceful—and Taeyong can’t help but envy the confidence he exudes. Back and forth, delicate fingers forming shapes carved by the gods as he tilts back, legs spread to steady himself, hands poised and curled at his sternum and above his eyes to look as if he’s offering his song up to the gods. Funny, Taeyong thinks, digging dull nails into his forearm, a pulse of warmth covering the nerves joining his neck and shoulder. He was never able to do this. And no matter how many times everyone tells him they’re a unit, inseparable…he doesn’t believe it. 

He can’t—not while they tell such brazen lies to his face.

But Ten is perfect. He understands not wanting to admit it.

~

Ten’s smile taunts him twenty-four seven. It appears in the morning, when he can’t manage to drag himself out from beneath the sheets, grinning and kindly, saying his name until he finally relents to emerging from the cocoon of linen with a groan. It appears in the afternoon, when practice has nearly concluded in an air-conditioned studio, teasing and childish, pushing him to the limits before Baekhyun reminds them all to focus instead of screwing around. 

It’s there at night, lit by the warmth that pools upon bleach-white blankets, lethargic and peaceful, loving him without any hesitation.

Taeyong _hates it._ He _hates_ the way Ten can look at him like that and feel so deeply, no part of him doubting or questioning or hating himself for all of this. He rakes through his hair, forced exhale piercing the otherwise-calm atmosphere, breaking the spell easily enough that the smile does, in fact, disappear. 

He almost smiles, finally having done something to affect Ten instead of the other way round.

Lying on his stomach, chin resting in one palm, the younger squints, as if he can’t see Taeyong’s blank expression with his own two eyes. The sheer oblivion makes Taeyong want to scream because _why can’t he see?_ Why can’t he see what he’s doing? Why doesn’t he understand?

And he realizes that he doesn’t, because nothing he has ever done will make Ten feel the way he makes Taeyong feel.

“Baby?”

_Shut up,_ he thinks. _Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP._ But he won’t beg for it. He’ll never be reduced to that. Not even silently, to himself, in the prison of his own mind. Begging is weak, and he’s already less than that already. Ten doesn’t beg, and so neither will he.

“What’s wrong?”

He clenches his jaw, teeth pressing themselves further into his gums as they make a seal behind his lips. _You,_ is the only answer that he could give without lying. _YOU’RE what’s wrong._ Giving in, though, would be admitting defeat. And of course, that’s not an option, not while Ten’s giving him puppy eyes and acting like he’s the most delicate creature in the world.

“Just tired,” he lies, easily, for he does it often. To Taemin. To Mark. To all of them if they ever attempt to ask about the two of them. He’s mastered redirection, deception, bold-faced lies—all of it. His vocabulary is full to bursting with the synonyms of ‘masked’ and ‘hidden’ and ‘hurt’, simply for the reason that learning them gives him a chance to explain away any emotions he didn’t previously understand.

Because love is stupid. It’s stupid, prideful, and devastating. It tears you apart and rearranges your guts, steals your heart and doesn’t care if you needed it or not. It’s jealous and angry and _painful_ , and he doesn’t know if he can’t stand it because he isn’t strong enough, or if he never has been and never will be. Every kind of love eludes him now, never aiming high enough above the walls, never able to strike a dent into iron and marble.

Ten almost phased through those walls, he thinks, but every day he tries to take a step forward, and Taeyong refuses to let him any further.

It’s not that he doesn’t _want_ it. He just feels overused right now; drained to the point of death. It’s not like he won’t give. He just _can’t_.

Indestructible retaliation is now the only thing that embodies him in full. He can remember telling fibs to their leader just this morning, when he woke up looking miserable, picking at his breakfast without a word to the others. _I’m fine,_ he’d said. _Didn’t get much sleep._

A half-truth, then, Taeyong realizes. One he takes for granted every time he tells it, for no one ever asks afterward. Not even Ten, evidently, as he nods with that solemn air, glancing back at the digital clock on the nightstand. All he does is hum, never understanding, and pushes himself up so that he can situate himself right next to the elder. Whatever dreamlike state they’d been in when their first group debuted, whatever haze had clouded their senses—it’s gone. At least, it is to him. Ten doesn’t seem to notice, and for all his gifts, it seems a miracle that he’s so oblivious to what surrounds him.

He hasn’t shifted, one leg beginning to stiffen. Taeyong is sure the joint will pop if he moves, so he doesn’t, unwilling to break his silence. He doesn’t believe Ten would be able to pry anything out of him. At this rate, would anyone?

Ignoring the warmth of his nerves as an arm winds around his shoulders—it’s a lie—and the honeyed words with nothing but good intentions—it’s a _lie_ —he can’t shake himself out of Ten’s grasp because _he’s lying, he knows it_ , and he can’t _stand_ looking into his eyes.

“Do you love me?” 

It’s harmless, poking fun at him with that damning smile again. But Taeyong can’t answer; doesn’t know if he ever has. Big, pretty irises, once so entranced by that light, reflecting it all and absorbing the stars alongside it, go blank. Everything tenses. The arm around him is foreign, too warm, too perfect to belong to someone who loves him. 

Someone who _pretends_ to love him.

There’s a pause. Always a pause, because you need to think before you break somebody’s heart. 

Before somebody breaks yours. 

“I don’t know how.”

The light dies with his words on stifling air, and he knows for sure that if Ten’s heart hasn’t stopped beating, then he’d want it to. It’s the way he feels so deeply, without any thought of regret, that does him in every time. Taeyong supposes it’s the only thing he isn’t jealous of. How easily he could get hurt if—

But he does. God, he always does. It’s like the numbness is selective, only rendering parts of him useless until everything falls apart around the person he hasn’t managed to be _enough_ for. Ten was always enough. He gave and gave and never once asked for anything but a few affirmations. Ones he’s been avoiding for so long because he can’t feel anything else but fear and resentment for the way everybody else is so much _better_ at love.

Ten’s warmth by his side is gone, and with the seconds spared for a single agony, he doesn’t even flinch. Not while Ten draws away, tears welling in those pretty, piercing eyes, breath shaky as he inhales, trying to breathe as he takes it all in.

Taeyong doesn’t speak. Not while feet slide back across the carpet, glass door opening and closing so much quieter than usual. And that’s when he realizes how badly he’s screwed up.

He wants to scream. Wants to yell after him, consequences be damned, wants to be heard and held and _fucking_ _loved._

No one loves him like Ten does. And he can’t even figure out how to love him back.

His fingers tremble with the suddenly-insignificant device in his hands. If Ten doesn’t go to him for comfort, he thinks, thoughts still dissonant, then only one other is entrusted with his emotions. There’s no mistaking the way he curls in on himself, nerves awash with guilt and shame and a horrible, irretrievable mistake that will echo until tomorrow and so many days after.

**taeyong**

_i fucked up._

It doesn’t mean much to him, saying that. Not when he can feel it instead. The full-to-bursting emptiness, fine darkness suturing his throat closed, oxygen crawling up his lungs, chest barely rising, heartbeat silent before he makes himself sick without even knowing.

His phone chimes. Taeyong doesn’t know if he wants to answer it.

**taemin**

_i know. but sometimes, you just can’t help things like this. i know it’s hard, but you need to give him time. give yourself time, too. this isn’t going to be an easy fix._

He grits his teeth. Slowly, resisting the urge to throw the stupid thing, he sets it down instead, snatching a pillow from behind him.

Taeyong buries his face in the pure, empty softness of it. 

And he screams.

He muffles every anguished cry, every choked-out sob, every tear over his own foolishness. The pillow will be stained with countless tears tonight, and it will be no secret to the one who wakes him that his strength has been lost. Undone by one man who had the audacity to challenge the stars with his brilliance and laughter, and the tide with his motions and mind.

It makes no difference to the universe and its unaltered scheme. What use is mourning when your own ignorance has done you in?

He only rises when a familiar sound drags his face from his blockade to the outer world. The raucous from Kai and Baekhyun’s room (likely produced from a live) doesn't produce the comfort it normally would; he just feels cold, like before.

**taemin**

_he’s asleep. did you want me to come talk with you?_

_don’t worry. i don’t exactly have much authority to scold you._

It takes a moment to respond, and he can already sense the way his eyelids are pleading to shut before he even answers.

**taeyong**

_i think i’ll just sleep it off. thanks, though._

_just…tell him i’m sorry. please._

_goodnight, hyung._

Taemin’s a faster typer than he expected.

**taemin**

_of course. sleep well. <3 _

_i’m always here if you need me._

_Of course you are,_ Taeyong thinks, bitter and aching, bones popping while his legs stretch toward the edge of the bed, only to curl back in just before they touch. He nearly loses himself again, the illusion of a second pair of feet tangling with his own all too prominent, too fresh in his memory. Like saltwater, crashing over sore, wounded limbs, washing clean the sin and sand of day and giving back to him the knowledge of sleep and yearning for the new day to come. All Taemin does is think of the future and those around him; if he ever has a moment to himself, it’s likely to continue that same routine, if not alongside his incredibly-effective self-care. He’s the senior of their group. He knows better than anyone how to deal with things like this.

Taeyong doesn’t know how he can. Even with the responsibility of being NCT’s leader, he feels trapped. Typecast, in a way. Like his role may fit, but he’s not allowed to play a second. 

The role of a vulnerable, easygoing Taeyong. One who can manage to figure out his own emotions.

One who doesn’t tangle others up in his messy web and let them get consumed by every thread.

Blue hair sticks to his neck in the summer heat, pillow still clutched to his chest as he lies down on the mattress. Outside, the darkness seems almost inviting, in comparison to the sickly shadows, mangled and ugly, cast by the lamp. He misses Ten, and his warmth. His smile. His _light_.

For a second, Taeyong feels like someone’s stabbed him through the chest. 

He shuts his eyes, and gives himself over to the night.

**Author's Note:**

> spill our guts in the comments. trust me, however much you want to scream, i feel you.


End file.
